


Better than a Dream, Worse than a Nightmare

by Deeranger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Barebacking, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Breathplay, Brother/Brother Incest, Choking, Crying Sam Winchester, Dark, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Desperation, Dominance, Emotional, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced, Forced Orgasm, Gay Sex, Guilt, Handcuffs, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Male Slash, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Oblivious Dean Winchester, Poor Dean Winchester, Poor Sam Winchester, Power Bottom Dean Winchester, Rape, Scared Sam Winchester, Sexual Abuse, Sibling Incest, Smut, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deeranger/pseuds/Deeranger
Summary: Dean loves his little brother to bits. But ever since Sam hit his teens Dean's love for him has turned less brotherly and far more intense. He no longer just loves him - no, he wants him. Needs him, even. For years he has dreamed of taking it to the next level, of finally just letting it all out and declaring his love the only way he knows how. And he has decided that tonight's the night. Because surely Sam feels the exact same way. He's certain of it. His little brother just needs a little persuasion. And Dean is going to help him with that.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 68





	Better than a Dream, Worse than a Nightmare

Sam’s head thumps like he has been binge-drinking liquor all night. Honestly, it feels like his brain is about to implode. Why’s he lying down though? Wasn’t he just talking to that brunette bartender moments ago? He isn’t sure.

  
Suddenly the room spins into view, blurry and wobbly and nauseating. How is he back at the motel already? And why can’t he move properly? With a low grunt, he manages to fix his eyes on the washed-out blob of flesh tones that moves into his field of vision. But even though it’s more than just a little blurry he recognizes the face just fine. 

  
“Dean…?” he croaks, trying to sit up but failing to. And his brother’s face is coming a lot closer, filling up his entire field of vision all of a sudden and invading his personal space.

  
“Dean, what the hell—“

  
The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue and whiskey breath, and Sam instantly presses his lips into a thin and uninviting line. Because what the _fuck_? 

  
With a gasp stuck in his throat, he squeezes his eyes shut in shock, refusing to believe what is happening right now. It has to be some sort of drunken hallucination, right? It has to be his imagination playing tricks on him. Dean wouldn't do anything like this. He's sure of it. Still, the physical sensation is far too vivid to be all in his head, too intense to be a figment of his imagination. No, this… This is for real. 

  
A muffled sound leaves Sam, but the protest gets swallowed up by the lips crashing down on his. And his brother is relentless, his plump tongue licking and prodding at his mouth and refusing to accept the rejection. But the slick warmth intruding on his mouth isn’t exactly welcome, and Sam wants to hurl a fist in Dean’s direction – only to discover that he can’t. 

  
“Mmphh!” he manages to splutter instead and he whips his head to the side in an attempt to deter Dean. But that only results in saliva getting smeared across his cheek, all wet and hot, while an angry hand wraps around his throat. It presses down and constricts like a snake and before three seconds have passed Sam is wheezing, his eyes going wide in surprise.

  
“Ghhh!”

  
It’s the only sound able to leave him, and even to his own ears it sounds pathetic. Powerless. Scared. And Dean just tightens his grip while he leans down, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. Sam jolts in his restraints – because when the hell did he get naked??

  
“Don’t be like that, Sammy…” Dean coos, green eyes sparkling in the dim light from the lamp on the nightstand. Even though everything in the motel room is somewhat shrouded in darkness, Sam can all too clearly make out his brother’s smirk. It’s confidently plastered on his face like some sort of misplaced mask that Sam just wants to rip off. Because this isn’t Dean. It can’t be. He would never do something like this, he would never—

  
“I know you want it,” the gravelly voice says as Dean leans down to pepper a trail of feather-light kisses along Sam’s jawline. And the tone of his voice leaves absolutely no room for negotiation. None whatsoever. Instantly Sam squirms, a spike of new fear shooting through him when he feels his brother’s soft lips nibble on him. There’s no doubt in his mind by now that Dean has gone mad. Either that or he has been hit with some sort of spell, because— 

  
“Yeah, you want it bad, don’t you?” Dean smiles, pulling back a little and disrupting his brother’s panicked train of thought. At the same moment, he eases the pressure on Sam’s throat, letting him suck in a raspy and much-needed breath of air. Right away he begins to cough, one wheezy inhale of air following the other only to get spit back out when it feels like his lungs are set on fire.

  
“No!” he manages to splutter in between coughs, small dots of white light sailing back and forth in his field of vision. But instantly Dean’s expression hardens and his hand clamps down on Sam’s throat once again.

  
“You know, I’m gettin’ kinda tired of this game…” Dean says lowly and sends him a glance that makes goosebumps form everywhere on his skin in a matter of seconds. Because Sam knows that look. God help him, he knows it.

  
“But if that’s how you wanna play I guess it’s all good,” Dean mutters, smirking at how his brother is tearing at the handcuffs trapping his hands to the headboard of the bed.

  
“Just stop squirming and I’ll let you breathe,” he adds, and suddenly a hand is stuffed in between their bodies. Instantly Sam’s eyes grow impossibly wide and he jolts, trying to arch away from the calloused palm sliding down his belly.

  
“Nggh!” he wheezes, helplessly trying to buck and toss and turn in an attempt to get Dean to stop touching him. But his brother merely lets out a chuckle:

  
“C’mon, Sammy… You gotta breathe sometime,” he says, and suddenly fingers close around Sam’s dick, beginning to lightly tug on it. 

  
Within a split second, Sam’s body goes completely rigid, every muscle tensing when he freezes like a statue from the unwanted and way too intimate touch. How can this possibly be happening? How can Dean be doing this to him? It _has_ to be a bad dream. It _has_ to. 

  
“That’s better,” Dean whispers, clearly noticing how Sam stills. With a smile he lifts his hand just a little bit from the tense throat below, letting his little brother snap for air.

  
“Knew you’d come around,” he says and now there’s a wanton sound to his voice that sends shivers rolling down Sam’s spine in icy cascades. And the hand wrapped around his dick strokes him just a bit faster, just a bit firmer and more insisting than before. As his foreskin is tugged back and forth over the sensitive head of his dick Sam can’t help but resume his thrashing and let out a hiss:

  
“Stop it! Dean, stop! You can't—“ 

  
“Maybe I spoke too soon?” Dean taunts, and instantly his other hand presses right back down on Sam’s throat, cutting off all air this time. A choked sound manages to spill from the young Winchester, all guttural and low and desperate just before no sound can leave him at all. And Dean merely smiles. 

  
“You’ve always been stubborn…” he whispers. With a weird gleam in his eye, his hand speeds up, green eyes laser-focused on his brother’s scrunched up face as he strokes him.

  
“You know what air deprivation does to a man?” Dean asks casually, licking his lip. Sam doesn’t really hear him, doesn’t even see him. All he can focus on is the feeling of not being able to breathe. The suffocating sensation is overriding everything else going on around him – well, except for the stimulation of his dick – and all he can think about is air, air, air.

  
“If done right… Well, I don’t really need to tell ya, do I?” Dean chuckles, flicking his wrist as he strokes his brother with scary expertise.

  
“Just look at you,” he says, admiring how Sam is beginning to tremble below him. Somewhere in his oxygen-starved mind, the young Winchester wants to scream – because he knows what Dean is hinting at. He knows it all too well. The telltale heat pooling in his groin is a dead giveaway. A whimper wants to spill from his lips, but it can’t, and he just keeps chubbing up in his brother’s hand, synapses firing and heart pounding.

  
“So fuckin’ beautiful, Sammy…” Dean says breathlessly. And to Sam’s utter horror he can feel how he’s now growing fully hard, his dick throbbing in the fist that keeps stroking him, keeps tugging and rubbing. But it doesn’t really matter. All that matters right now is air. Survival. And he can’t fight Dean. As his basic instincts kick in and his eyes begin to flutter closed he stills, his body feeling like it’s made of a thousand lead weights that just want to sink right through the mattress.

  
“That’s right,” Dean states somewhere far away - and the hand on Sam’s throat lifts. Right on cue. With a rattle, the young Winchester gasps for air, gulps for it in desperation, and he fills his smarting lungs to the brim with oxygen that feels like it chars him from the inside.

  
“All hard for me now, aren’t you?” Dean says and there’s a sort of pride in his voice that makes Sam’s skin crawl.

  
“Yeah, all hard and leakin’ like a little bitch.”

  
The words almost make Sam wince, but all he can manage to do right now is to breathe. Just breathe. And the hand on his dick works him faster, slicking him up with the juices he has apparently produced without even knowing it.

  
“Fuck, you’re so hot like this… Can’t wait any longer,” Dean says, ignoring how his brother wheezes and how sweat beads on every inch of his body, drenching his hair and the sheets on the bed.

  
“Gonna ride you now,” Dean says, and lust is practically dripping from every word, thick and scary. A whimper manages to tumble out of Sam’s mouth in the middle of a gasp. He finds himself shocked by the words even though they didn’t need to be spoken for him to know where this is headed. What Dean is doing. Trembling he tries to focus on his brother’s eyes, tries to will the dots of white in his vision to go away as he sucks in one panicked breath after the other.

  
“No! D-Dean…! Dean, please!!” he croaks, and without even thinking about it he yanks on the cuffs. As the metal gnaws into his skin he sees his brother’s eyes narrow, sees them turn into slits of emerald green that just peer down at him with a superior expression in them. The look on his face is one of complete confidence and determination. A pure display of power. Sam automatically shivers, and helplessly he yanks on the cuffs again. 

  
“Don’t! Don’t do this to m—“ he begins, but Dean is quick to land a quick slap on his cheek, abruptly silencing him.

  
“Shut up!” he hisses and at the same moment, he lets his hand wrap around Sam’s neck again, squeezing. The threat is clear. And Sam freezes once more, lets his body go stiff as a board in the fear of getting his air cut off again. The metallic clanks from the handcuffs smacking against the headboard cease and the only sound now filling the motel room is ragged breathing and the slight squeaking of the mattress as Dean positions himself.

  
“Fuck, I’ve wanted to ride this fat cock of yours for years,” he says as he lets his knees bracket Sam’s hips. Eagerly he lowers himself a little, a pink tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip in concentration. As soon as the tip of the hard dick below brushes against the cleft of his ass, he lets out an obscene moan that is bound to go right through the thin walls of the cheap motel room. Sam practically flinches by the sound.

  
“No…” he whispers and he hates the way his voice seems to shrink and grow thin, cracking even though it’s a simple one-syllable word. In response, the hand around his throat squeezes a bit harder. It’s an obvious warning.

  
“Wanted to feel you inside me for so long,” Dean says, and it sounds like his voice drops into an even deeper register than his normal baritone one.

  
“Wanna stretch me out, Sammy? Wanna fill me up?” he purrs, his eyes hooded and his pupils blown large enough to almost swallow the green irises. Sam shakes his head weakly, trying to ignore how Dean’s fingers instantly dig into his neck, blunt nails leaving marks in the shape of crescent moons.

  
“N-No! Dean, I don’t wan—“

  
“Yes, you do,” Dean interrupts, squeezing Sam’s neck hard enough to make him let out a strangled grunt. Still, his dick twitches in Dean’s hand as the heat in his groin keeps burning, keeps growing hotter for some godforsaken reason that he simply cannot fathom. How did he even grow hard in the first place? He’s not sure if he even remembers anymore because his mind is spinning so intensely from oxygen starvation and fear that he can’t collect his thoughts. And now Dean is guiding his treacherously hard dick in between his ass cheeks, rubbing it back and forth over what has to be his entrance. Instantly Sam jolts at the alien feeling of touching his brother’s ass. It feels warm and slick and so, so wrong that he can’t suppress the yelp that tumbles out of his mouth. 

  
“Dean!?” he whines, his voice shrill and panicked.

  
“In the flesh, baby…” Dean just whispers, and this time the smug smirk on his face is accompanied by something dark lacing his voice. Something that is reserved for shady phone calls or midnight hook-ups in dingy alleyways. And then the hand around Sam’s dick tightens, making the slick tip press against Dean’s hole as he lowers himself down a little.

  
“Nngh! God…!!” Sam bursts out, unable to keep silent when his sensitive cockhead pushes against the furled muscle. The friction and slippery warmth instantly make zaps of heat course through him, zinging right up his spine and making him squirm.

  
“Ah-ah. Stay still,” Dean warns in a throaty voice, the gravelly sound of it ringing in Sam’s ears. And the hand around his neck squeezes just hard enough to make him wheeze again.

  
“Shit, Sammy, you’re fuckin’ hung! But I guess you know that,” Dean pants as he wiggles his hips a little, rocking lightly up and down as he tries to soften the tight ring of muscle. It’s not hard to figure out that he has already prepped himself because drops of lube are clinging to his inner thighs and smeared in a thick layer all the way from his balls to near his tailbone. It’s slippery and it feels way too silky-smooth, making Sam shudder and writhe as he battles the growing heat in his groin.

  
“Gonna split me open… Fuck…” Dean moans, biting his lip as he lowers himself down a little further, thick thigh muscles trembling under his weight. This time the flared head of Sam’s dick is forced to push a bit harder, forced to increase the pressure on the pink muscle just enough for the tip to slightly breach it.

  
A breathless groan instantly escapes Sam when he feels the tight heat of his brother’s body around him, how it flutters and clamps down on him like a velvet vice trying to suck him in. Despite his mind reeling with fear and repulsion the physical sensation sends electric currents zinging through him, sends a tingle all the way up through his abdomen. As it spreads like tendrils to every nerve ending in his body the heat pooling in his groin intensifies, flaring up into searing hot flames that viciously lap at him. It’s too much. And instinctively he bucks his hips a little, his body unintentionally reacting to the stimulation. 

  
Instantly another moan tumbles out of Dean, loud and vulgar, when the entire head of Sam’s dick slips inside of him. The drag on his insides stings but at the same time the older Winchester can’t help but let his head fall back, eyes fluttering closed as pleasure shoots through him. His hand around Sam’s throat is still there, but it no longer presses down – apparently he’s too caught up in the moment to keep it up – and his little brother sucks in some deep breaths through gritted teeth, his entire body shaking.

  
“Fuck yeah, Sammy…!” Dean gasps as his walls stretch, working overtime to accommodate Sam’s thick girth as it slowly impales him inch by inch.

  
Below Sam is heaving for air, sweat beading on his forehead while he fights the sudden urge to buck his hips again. He doesn’t know why he even _has_ that urge. Why is his body reacting like this? Why the hell can’t he control himself? This is his _brother_ for fuck’s sake! But that warm and slippery squeeze of Dean’s ass feels way too good and his dick can’t seem to tell the difference between right and wrong anymore. Instead, it eagerly twitches inside the tight channel, grows harder and bigger as Dean keeps lowering himself down on it further. And this time the whimper leaving Sam’s mouth bleeds into half a moan. And god, he wishes he could take it back. Because it doesn’t go by unnoticed.

  
“Oh, you really like this, huh?” Dean pants, looking down at him with a toothy smile, his face red and sweaty from exertion. Sam doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to react other than shaking his head the little he is capable of. 

  
“Don’t lie to me. You fuckin’ love your cock in big brother’s ass!” Dean moans and gyrates his hips a little before lowering himself down further. 

  
As the silky walls are forced to expand around the intrusion, a strangled sound spills from Sam. He can’t really tell if it’s a yelp or a moan though and he hates it. He hates every bit about this, hates how his body responds and how he’s unable to do anything about it. But most of all he hates that it feels good. Dean’s body is so warm and tight and the friction on his cock feels like it is setting every fiber in his body alight with confused arousal. It feels like his entire groin area is practically ablaze.

  
“Please…!”

  
He doesn’t even realize that he is saying anything before the sound of his own voice reaches his ears. And instantly he just wants to curl in on himself. Because to his horror, there’s a needy undertone to the otherwise pathetic protest. An obvious hint of arousal that he wishes he could just wash away and erase. But it’s there. It’s definitely there, and there’s no way to hide it. And Dean’s smile just grows wider.

  
“Please what?” he purrs from somewhere deep in his chest, and now his voice is plunging into a bass register that Sam has never heard him use before. For some reason it makes his dick twitch excitedly and a keening sort of noise tumbles out of him at that realization.

  
“What do you want? Mm?” Dean moans, his fingertips lightly digging into Sam’s throat. It’s a constant reminder that they both know who is in charge here, a subtle threat that makes the young Winchester’s blood run cold and hot at the same time. Weakly his fingers fumble with the cuffs, searching for some sort of weakness to exploit. But the attempt is halfhearted and they both know it. Because there’s no way out.

  
“Want me to go faster?” Dean asks in a throaty voice.

  
“Want me to fuckin’ wreck you?” he moans – and at the same moment, he sinks down the last bit of the way, letting Sam’s dick bury itself inside of him. 

  
Instantly Sam’s eyes shoot wide open and a ragged combination of a yelp and a moan escapes him. He is buried balls-deep in his brother, and he simply can’t come to terms with that fact – neither can he understand how he is still hard. But he is. He’s as hard as rock and the way Dean clenches around him makes his dick happily twitch and drool pre-cum, makes him loudly gasp for air even though Dean isn’t even pressing down on his throat anymore.

  
“Oh, god…! Dean…! Dean, please, th-this is… This is s-so wrong…!” he stutters and his mind is spinning so fast that he is uncertain if he might be on the verge of passing out. But Dean doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Sam can’t tell.

  
“Yeah? Just makes it hotter, doesn’t it?” Dean says and begins to lift himself up, letting Sam’s dick drag against his insides as he moves. When the silky walls squeeze him Sam can’t help but let out a hiss, trying his best to camouflage the moan that wants to rush out of his mouth.

  
“No... N-No, it doesn’t…!” he manages to spit. But the high-pitched words sound sort of hollow. Like they’re not really honest. And when the flared head of his dick catches on Dean’s rim Sam’s face scrunches up in embarrassment when a strangled moan manages to escape before he can swallow it.

  
“Liar,” Dean merely states, his confident smirk never fading. And then he slams back down, forcing Sam’s entire length inside of him in one fluid motion. A loud ‘smack’ of skin against skin reverberates in the room – right along with a loud moan that sounds both desperate and wanton and scared. It takes a few moments for Sam to realize that _he’s_ the one making that noise.

  
“That’s right, baby… Shit, you make such pretty sounds…” Dean moans and wiggles his hips again, not missing how Sam is now fighting to keep those moans from just spilling out of him uninhibitedly. His brows are furrowed, knit together in concentration while he sucks in one shallow breath of air after the other, and he shoots Dean an angry glare:

  
“Fuck you!” he hisses, but the anger has kind of seeped out of his voice before the words can leave his mouth. There’s too much happening, too much sensation, and he can’t keep track of it all at the same time. Dean just chuckles. The bastard actually _chuckles_. Sam wants to punch him square in the face, completely forgetting that the handcuffs leave him with absolutely no chance of doing so. 

  
“Fuck me…? Jeez, must’ve slipped you a bit too much, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you already are!” Dean jokes, revealing his teeth in a smug grin.

  
“Just look at that…. Buried balls-deep in me… Feels so fuckin’ good, Sammy,” he adds, looking down at the action going on between his legs. By now Dean’s dick is standing at attention, red and dripping with pre-cum, and he wraps a hand around it, shuddering as soon as his fingers make contact with the veiny flesh. A breathy moan escapes him and judging by the sound of it he’s getting close already. The trembling of his thighs testifies to that. And Sam can’t say he’s far behind even though he wishes that was the case. Why won’t that stubborn fire in his groin die down? And how can it be growing hotter by the minute? It shouldn’t be. He wants it to just disappear, wants it to magically be gone. Well, at least he thinks he does? Somehow he’s suddenly not entirely sure anymore.

  
“Stop…” he whispers, but he’s pretty sure it’s only in his head because no sound seems to come out. And does he really want Dean to stop or does he want to stop himself? Both maybe? Or neither? 

  
With a deep sound coming from somewhere in his chest Dean suddenly begins to move, begins to lift himself up only to slide back down.

  
As his throbbing dick impales his older brother once again Sam can’t hold back a moan mixing with a gasp. It feels so intense. Like Dean’s body is sucking him right in, like it’s clasping on to him in a velvety grip tight enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. It’s too much. And finally, he realizes that there’s no way he’s going to last. ‘ _Wait, what?!_ ’ his mind shrieks, appalled and shocked by the idea of actually coming. Of coming inside Dean. Of shooting his load into his own brother. It’s beyond wrong. It’s so filthy… So dirty… But somehow the thought manages to feed the fire in his groin, manages to make his cock twitch once more. A sob wants to slip out between his lips but for some strange reason, it turns into a moan instead.

  
“C’mon, baby… Just let go,” Dean says under his breath, clearly noticing how Sam has begun to squirm below him. By now his hips stutter ever so slightly as he fights the urge to buck and drive himself deeper into the tight heat above. 

  
It makes Dean’s breath hitch to see his little brother like this. His tall and strong little brother reduced to nothing but a sweaty and shivering mess, silently begging for more. Because Dean _knows_ he wants more. It’s obvious. The way those hazel eyes have turned dark and hooded and the way those beautiful, golden planes of muscle tense and tremble uncontrollably are proof of that. But Dean wants more. He wants to _hear_ him say it. 

  
"If you want to cum you'd better beg."

  
The words leave him before he has even thought them through. But for some reason, he doesn’t really care because Sam lets out a strangled sound and bucks his hips. As the thick cock slides deeper inside of Dean both of them let out a moan loud enough to definitely wake up some neighbors. 

  
“F-Fuck…!” Sam whines and his trapped hands turn into milky white fists while his toes curl.

  
“Go on. Beg me. I know you want to,” Dean says and taps the side of Sam’s throat with his fingertips. Just a little reminder of who’s calling the shots. He automatically licks his lips when he feels the young man’s pulse hammer away under his fingers, hard and fast and frantic. A series of panting noises leave Sam and he writhes – like a worm trapped on a fisherman’s hook – and he tries to shake his head. But Dean’s fingers instantly tighten their grip.

  
“Beg me, Sam…!” he says, his voice shaky with lust as he begins to bounce on top of his brother, nearly punching the air out of him every time he slams down. Wheezy noises tangled in moans and gasps are starting to flow from Sam in a panicked loop and he finds himself meeting Dean’s movements, bucking his hips upward every time he drops down.

  
“Nggh! P-Plea-ahh!” Sam moans, interrupting himself with a choked, guttural noise when Dean clenches so hard around him that it almost hurts. Almost. But it’s not enough to make his dick flag one iota. Instead, that tiny hint of pain only seems to egg him on, seems to add fuel to the all-consuming fire in his groin, his abdomen, everywhere. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’s headed for the point of no return. And fast. The way Dean keeps riding him, keeps bouncing up and down on top of him while making those obscene noises, is too much to handle. Not to mention the tight squeeze of what feels like hot, liquid silk trapping his dick, rubbing, dragging and—

  
“What? I didn’t catch that,” Dean taunts, out of breath and obviously reveling in the desperate look on his little brother’s face and the pathetic whines spilling from him. God, he has waited ages for this. Ever since Sam hit his teens he has waited for this moment, longed for it. And now it’s finally here. 

  
Without a second thought, Dean instantly ups his game, spurred on by the needy and ashamed expression in Sam’s eyes – and he speeds up, slamming against the hard body below with renewed fervor. 

  
“Ohh, fuck…! Dean!!” Sam chokes, his hips bucking and his thighs violently shaking.

  
“Say it!” Dean demands and finally, he lets go of Sam’s throat completely. As soon as the pressure disappears and stops crushing his larynx it feels like the now unobstructed intakes of oxygen send a fresh and sudden rush of blood straight to the young Winchester’s dick - and both of them let out a moan when he grows impossibly big inside of Dean, tumbling past the point of no return with a jolt of his entire body. 

  
“D-Dean, I- oh, fuck!! Fuck, plea-ease…!?” he hears himself moan, the plea cut in half by another rough bounce of his brother’s body. The sound of the word leaving Sam’s mouth like that, all raw and wild and needy, makes Dean’s own movements stutter and grow near frantic.

  
“Yes! Oh, shit, just like that, Sammy…!” he grunts, clamping down on the thick length inside of him so hard that he sees stars. Fuck, he never knew his little brother could even _sound_ like that. So lost and desperate and wanton at the same time. A moan tumbles out of Dean when he thinks about the fact that he’s the reason for that. He’s the reason Sam is all sweaty and bucking his hips like this, fucking into him without even realizing it. His little brother has wanted it all along. Dean knows that now.

  
“Fuckin’ love it when you beg!!” he bursts out, and his thighs are shaking so violently now that he’s uncertain if he can even keep going without getting a cramp – but he doesn’t care. All he cares about, all he feels, is that delicious drag on his insides, the look on his brother’s face, and the sounds that are getting punched out of him. It’s nothing short of amazing. And he feels so incredibly full. Like he’s going to get split right in two by that fat cock pumping into him over and over. Sam is filling him up so damn good and the mere thought of it, of Sam inside of him like this, makes his back arch and his breath hitch.

  
“Oh, god!” Dean groans, his hand turning into a blur on his own dick. Everything is just heat and want and Sam and smacks of skin-on-skin combined into one big, beautiful mess. The coil in his abdomen is ready to snap, his balls beginning to draw up as he keeps riding that hard cock underneath. It’s like he can’t take anymore, can’t handle any more sensation – but at the same time, it’s not nearly enough. And Sam is coming undone right before his eyes, writhing like he’s in agony even though loud moans of pleasure keep escaping him. But it doesn’t fool Dean. He knows the truth, sees right through that stupid façade. He _knows_ his brother.

  
“P-Please….! Please, please…!”

  
And there it is. Sam’s voice is a pathetic whine, almost a whimper, but Dean hears it just fine – and it sets his groin on fire. With a throaty groan, he stares down at his little brother, a possessive hand tangling in his hair to yank his head back just enough to expose the long column on his neck, adorned with pink bruises in the shape of fingers. _His_ fingers. No one else’s. _He_ marked Sam up like that, _he_ claimed him and—

  
“Fuck, ‘m gonna…!” Dean grunts, his bouncing up and down coming to a stuttering halt as he grinds down against Sam, stilling. As his entire body tenses and goes rigid, he clenches around Sam so hard that both of them squeeze their eyes shut and let out something close to a mewl. And finally, Dean can’t hold back anymore. 

  
With a roar he comes, crashing head-first into his climax. Ropes of sticky white shoot from his cock to splatter all over Sam’s belly and chest, painting milky streaks across the tanned skin. As Dean feverishly tugs on himself, chasing every last bit of his orgasm, his hand clutches the chestnut locks hard enough to make his little brother’s scalp sting and his eyes water.

  
“F-Fuckkk, Sammy…!” he growls, and he sucks in a big breath of air through gritted teeth. Apparently, he has forgotten everything about needing oxygen in the middle of his high and now – as his mind returns – he greedily fills his lungs to the brim, gasping.

  
“H-Holy fuck…” he rasps, admiring the sight below him. Sam’s chest is rapidly heaving, face scrunched up and eyes firmly shut while he still weakly bucks his hips, unable to stay still. Never has Dean seen anything so beautiful. And never has white looked so good on a background of trembling, tawny skin.

  
“God…”Dean manages to say under his breath, finally letting go of Sam’s hair. As he does his little brother’s nostrils flare and he lets out a helpless grunt that makes the corners of Dean’s mouth curve up into a small smirk. Sam always _was_ stubborn. And he’ll probably never admit to it, but there’s no hiding the fact that he’s still achingly hard inside of Dean, his dick twitching and leaking in excitement.

  
“So fuckin’ beautiful, Sammy,” Dean says and lets his fingers trail down the side of his brother’s flushed face. It’s almost as if Sam tries to flinch away, but Dean dismisses it.

  
“C’mon… Want you to breed me,” he says in a throaty whisper – and with that, he begins to move again. This time the drag is a bit less intense because by now Dean is so slicked up and loose that he can take Sam all the way to the hilt without feeling like his insides are getting rubbed completely raw. In response, Sam’s eyes immediately shoot open – both because of the resumed movement but definitely also because of his brother’s words. 

  
“Dea—” he squeaks, voice cracking and disappearing into a high-pitched wheeze when Dean begins to gyrate his hips, his hand lightly wrapping around Sam’s throat again.

  
“That’s right. Fuck me, Sam,” he says, speeding up. 

  
The bed’s mattress is protesting, the metallic shrieks of its springs bouncing off the walls in the motel room. The air is heavy with the smell of sex and sweat and the sound of skin smacking against skin is as loud as it is vulgar. There’s no doubt in Dean’s mind that they’re keeping their neighbors awake. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care one bit. And Sam shouldn’t either.

  
“Fuck me like you fuckin’ mean it,” Dean grunts, tightening his grip around Sam’s bruised throat. He can feel his Adam’s apple bob nervously, can feel the ridges of cartilage under his fingertips right along with the hammering of his brother’s pulse. Thump, thump, thump. It’s so fast. He must be close.

  
“Do it. Want your cum inside me, wanna milk you dry,” Dean says, snapping for air while he bounces. And Sam makes a choked sound, his eyes going wide as if the dirty talk spurs him on. Dean doesn’t miss it.

  
“You’d like that, huh? Like comin’ in my ass?” he whispers, hurrying to take the hint. As he leans down towards Sam ever so slightly he keeps slamming against him, sliding up and down the hard shaft with merciless vigor. And it doesn’t take much more than a split second before he gets his reward: Sam bucks his hips once again. A weird sound accompanies the movement this time though. It’s kind of like a guttural noise coming from somewhere deep in Sam’s throat and for a moment it reminds Dean of the sound a wounded animal would make when it knows it’s cornered and the predator has the upper hand. But that’s just stupid, isn’t it? Because Sam bucks again, driving his hard cock into the tight heat of Dean’s ass. It's all too clear how much he really wants this.

  
“Yeah, that’s it, baby! Fillin’ me up so good,” Dean moans, feeling how his spent dick twitches in renewed interest. How can he even be growing hard again already? Fuck, he hasn’t been able to in years. But this? This is simply too perfect, too intense, and too damn hot. This is a dream come true and it’s much better than any fantasy could ever live up to. And god knows he’s had plenty.

  
“Shit, Sammy! C’mon! Harder!” he grunts, and he clenches around his brother’s dick, silently urging him to just let go. It’s not like he’s made of glass, but Sam still seems to be holding back a little. It’s annoying, really. But Dean is certain that all he needs is a little persuasion. He’s _not_ going to hurt him, that’s for sure.

  
“Fuck me!” Dean growls and with a quick movement he leans down to capture his brother’s lips with his own, smashing their mouths together in a bruising kiss. And his encouragement seems to work. With a whimper, Sam’s hips begin to stutter and his movements grow erratic, hips bucking wildly as he meets every single movement Dean makes. It’s in perfect sync, all frenzied and hungry. Just like it should be.

  
“Yes! Like that, just like that!” Dean rambles, moaning into Sam’s gasping mouth as the cock inside of him grows harder yet, angry twitches nudging at his insides. His brother is so close now, there’s no doubt about it.

  
“Yeah, give it to me!” Dean says, ignoring how Sam whines against his lips, all desperate and feverish. Hell, if he didn’t know better he’d think it was a protest. But they both know exactly what it means. The desperate jerks of Sam’s hips and the excited twitches of his dick are tell-tale signs of what is about to happen - and Dean slams himself down harder yet, spurring his little brother on.

  
“P-Please!!”

  
The choked sound of the plea is quickly caught and swallowed by Dean as he plunges his tongue inside Sam’s mouth, eagerly probing around in there as if he’s trying to map out every single millimeter of the wet flesh. Sam’s taste is so sweet. It reminds him of raspberries and cinnamon somehow, and greedily he licks at him, swirling his tongue around in a frantic dance. Sam doesn’t really return the kiss though. But it’s okay. He’s probably just too caught up in what’s going on between his legs and trying to catch his breath, Dean figures.

  
“Oh, shit… Oh, fuck, Sammy…!” he moans, finally pulling back from the mess of a kiss. A string of saliva connects their lips as he looks down on his little brother through hooded eyes, watching how his face is all red from exertion and scrunched up as if he’s in a great deal of pain. That surely isn’t the case though. Dean can’t help but smirk as he watches him gasp and writhe, listens to the moans escaping him almost without inhibition now, all breathless and needy. It’s like music to Dean’s ears. And now Sam is bucking, jerking his hips up in erratic thrusts.

  
“Cum for me, baby!” Dean grunts, reveling in the way his insides have begun to turn sore from the intense pounding. The dull pain is mixing beautifully with a hot tingle of pleasure though, and his dick is almost back to being fully hard. As it slaps against his belly with each bounce he gyrates his hips again, grinding down hard – and below him Sam suddenly lets out a shaky moan as he snaps his hips up, burying himself to the hilt.

  
“Fuck! Dean!!” he whines, screwing his eyes shut. At the same moment, his mouth drops open and he tenses, back arched and toes curling. The handcuffs rattle as he grabs the chain, fists turning white as he clutches the metal hard enough to form red indents on the skin of his palms. It’s painful but he doesn’t feel it. Not even a little bit. Instead, the fire in his groin has suddenly grown into roaring flames that expand and turn into a blinding flash, heat coursing through him with such intensity that he forgets to breathe. And before he knows it he grows even larger inside of Dean. A spasm rolls through him then, violent and cramp-like – and a hoarse cry escapes him when hot spurts shoot from his dick, flooding his brother’s insides in sticky gushes. It feels like he’s suspended in some sort of vacuum, all white light and heat and want. It’s ecstasy and agony wrapped into one, and for a moment he doesn’t even know where he is or what is happening. It’s too much. Yet not enough.

  
“That’s it! Fuck me, fuck me!!”

  
The frantic voice is kind of distant and Sam only hears half of it and understands none of it. The words just turn into gibberish as he keeps mindlessly chasing the feeling that has his groin set alight and his heart hammering away like a chisel smashing his breast bone from the inside. Somehow his overworked brain manages to register that he’s still pressing himself into that tight, wet squeeze that hugs his dick in a hopeless attempt to go deeper. But his pelvis is already squashed against sweaty skin. He can’t possibly go any deeper. Oh, but he needs to.

  
“Yeah! Like that, baby! Fuck, so good for me…!”

  
The voice is a bit clearer this time and Sam’s skin tingles with it, goosebumps rising by the sound of its baritone note. And suddenly the white light filling his vision shrinks. As it fades away it leaves him to suck in a huge breath of air that he didn’t realize he has been craving until now. As his lungs fill with oxygen, the cramp-like tension finally leaves his body and he finds himself slumping back down on the mattress, muscles going lax. The warm body above follows, still hugging him tight as he begins to slowly go soft inside of it. And then his mind comes back online. God, he wishes it hadn’t. 

  
“ _That_ … Was fucking amazing!” Dean’s voice says, excitement and something close to pride clearly present in it. And Sam just breathes. He breathes in and out, in and out, trying to slow down his panicked intakes of air. But he fails miserably. Instead of getting himself under control he just seems to spiral off into something close to hyperventilation. 

  
"Should've done this ages ago," Dean smiles and his hand gently trails down Sam's feverish cheek. His little brother must be sweating profusely because his fingers get wet instantly. In the almost nonexistent light in the motel room Dean can barely make out Sam's face, but he's pretty sure that his eyes are firmly closed. Why isn't he looking at him? It's probably because he's still recovering. Or maybe he's just shy? That would be typical actually, even though it's silly. But even though his eyes are closed and his features are shrouded in semi-darkness Dean still finds his little brother incredibly beautiful, revels in every perfect little detail that he knows is there… He doesn't need light to see him, really. And he can _feel_ him just fine. 

  
"You know I love you, right?" Dean hears himself whisper and he cards his fingers through Sam's sweaty hair, brushing a few locks out of his face. If he didn't know better he'd think Sam just flinched but of course, he didn't. 

  
"God, I love you so much…" he says, breathless and sated. And, man, is he sore. By now Sam has gone almost completely flaccid, and Dean kind of appreciates the decreased pressure on his insides. 

  
"Please… Untie me," Sam says lowly. The words come out almost in a rasp, monotone and hoarse. In fact his voice sounds sort of weak. But okay, he _has_ just had what is probably the best sex of his life, so he really should be exhausted. It's only fair. And being handcuffed is probably beginning to hurt a little too. 

  
"Sure, Sammy," Dean says, sending his little brother a smile that he definitely isn't able to see. 

  
"I'll just get the key, hang on," he says and finally he moves, letting Sam's spent dick slip out of him. A small moan escapes Dean from the sensation of sore tissue getting rubbed at, the fat cockhead catching on his rim a little when he lifts himself up. As soon as his body is disconnected from Sam's globs of sticky white dribble out of his hole to run down the insides of his thighs, slicking up their skin and blotching the sheets underneath them. It’s the stuff of every dirty fantasy Dean has ever had and it's enough to make his dick twitch in renewed interest once again. But having climaxed already he knows a second round will probably border on being painful for both of them, so it'll have to wait. 

  
With a shriek of the mattress' springs, he gets up and sticks his hand in the duffle bag on the other bed, quickly fishing out the tiny key. Sam is being silent. Only the sound of his ragged breathing can be heard over the distant rumbling of traffic outside. Apparently, he's still trying to compose himself and even out his breathing. And who can blame him after an orgasm like _that_? 

  
Dean smiles to himself as he gets back up on the bed next to his brother. He can't help but wince a little as he moves because damn, is he sore. And all of the slick slowly seeping out of him has begun to cool, covering his skin in a gooey and sticky layer. Sam is equally messy. To be honest he had never thought he’d see the day. 

  
As he leans down over his little brother to stick the key in the lock on the handcuffs he looks down, taking in the sight once more. God, Sam is so beautiful as he lies there. All sweaty and fucked out. He looks absolutely spent and Dean can't help but let out a content sigh. 

  
"I've dreamt about this for so long, you know… Can't tell you how happy I am that you finally came around," he smiles and leans down a bit further to place a kiss on Sam's lips. But before he can close the distance his little brother protests:

  
"Don't." 

  
The word comes out almost in a squeak. Dean furrows his brows a little at that, but he stops none the less and just looks down at Sam hidden in the shadows. He'd always taken his brother for a softie. He had definitely expected him to at least want to kiss and cuddle a little but apparently, he's mistaken. But that's alright. 

  
"Okay, okay, no aftercare then," he huffs with a smile and reluctantly retreats. As he straightens back up he sticks the key in the lock on the handcuffs, turning it. With a metallic click, they spring open and Sam immediately retracts his hands from the metal restraints. The movement is all jerky and weird - but he's probably sore from having his arms caught like that for so long. Dean would think that his wrists are rubbed a little raw too, but it can't be too bad because Sam isn't paying any attention to it. He isn't even moving. He's just lying there, breathing and staring at the ceiling. Like all energy has left him. But that's pretty normal, after all. 

  
"I'm gonna hit the shower. Wanna join me?" Dean offers as he gets off the bed. In the darkness, he can just make out how Sam shakes his head. 

  
"Alright," Dean chuckles, amused at how sleepy his little brother seems to be. 

  
"You rest a little then. I'll be right back and we’ll order pizza," he says and pads towards the bathroom, sending Sam a smile over his shoulder. His little brother is still just lying there on the soiled sheets, motionless and apparently too tired to answer. He has most definitely fucked his brains out, it seems. 

  
As Dean closes the door to the bathroom he lets out a sigh and steps into the shower. As soon as the warm water erupts from the showerhead above he kind of wants to take a step back - he doesn't really want to wash away the evidence of what just happened. It feels too precious to get rid of. But okay, he knows that he can't exactly keep it. He wishes he could though, wishes he could keep Sam's sweet smell on him forever. Hell, if it was possible he'd bottle it. He will have to settle though. 

  
With a small smile, he steps under the cascade of warm water, lets it wash away the slick between his legs that has begun to form a crust. As it swirls into the drain he takes a deep breath, just basking in the afterglow of the most intense sex he has ever had. And it's more than that too. It's way more than just sex. It's almost as if he still can't really wrap his mind around it, can't fully understand that his dream has finally become reality. A toothy smile is on display on his face as he thinks of Sam, replays everything from the last hour in his head. God, it's almost too good to be true. 

  
Turning off the faucet he steps out of the shower and grabs a towel. Quickly drying himself off he considers if he should put on some clothes and get decent. But he quickly decides against it. Why cover up? It's not like he needs to. Not anymore. Besides, getting dressed takes time and honestly, he can't wait to join Sam, to watch some TV and just munch on some pepperoni pizza. 

  
Whistling a happy tune he discards the towel and opens the door. As the steam from the shower rolls out into the adjoining room like a gray fog he shudders a little from the change in temperature. It seems a bit colder in here than before. He's probably just imagining it though. Besides, he was all worked up before, and now he's relaxed. More than relaxed, in fact. 

  
"What pizza should we order? I vote pepperoni!" he says and lets his gaze settle on the bed. For a moment he's confused because he can't seem to spot Sam. All he sees in the dark are tangled and messy sheets. 

  
"Sam?" he says and turns a little, looking around the room. His glance jumps from the beds to the table and then to the recliner in the corner. But he can't see his brother. 

  
"Sam??" he calls again and now his hand fumbles for the light switch on the wall. As the light clicks on and illuminates the room Dean squints and looks around again. And instantly it feels like he can't breathe. No matter where his gaze settles he can't spot his brother. Panicked he turns around and looks down: His brother's shoes have disappeared from their place by the door sill. 

  
"No..." Dean hears himself whisper. With his heart lodged somewhere in his throat he lifts his gaze - only to see that the chain on the door is just uselessly dangling. Instantly it feels like all air is knocked out of him. 

  
"No… No…" he repeats under his breath. Shakily he extends a hand and grabs the doorknob, twisting it carefully. It isn't locked. Why isn't it locked? As he cracks the door open cold air rushes in and makes goosebumps form everywhere on his skin in a matter of milliseconds. It feels like shards of ice pierce him from every direction, a blistering cold settling deep in his bones as his eyes scan the parking lot out front. The impala is still there. But his brother isn't. _'Maybe he's getting pizza?'_ Dean thinks to himself, his mind feverishly spinning. But somewhere deep down he knows that isn't the case. His brother isn't getting pizza. 

  
"Sammy…?" 

  
Dean doesn't even hear his own voice, doesn't register his vocal cords move. Instead, all he feels is an emptiness unlike anything he's felt before. It feels like a cold fist is closing around his heart, wrenching it into a bloody pulp and tearing it right out of his chest. How can this be happening? Is it even real? His knees buckle under him and suddenly he hits the carpet when his legs can no longer carry his weight. Somewhere in his panicked mind, he can feel his throat straining as he calls out his brother’s name, hears it ricocheting off the buildings surrounding the parking lot. But there’s no answer. Sam is gone. 


End file.
